


Signe Arrives on the Madsen Farm

by wavewright62



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: F/M, Fake it 'til you make it, Humour, Needs Must, Resourcefulness, Year 0 (Stand Still Stay Silent)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 20:09:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14088714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wavewright62/pseuds/wavewright62
Summary: What it says on the tin, folks.  An unimaginative title, but a descriptive one.





	Signe Arrives on the Madsen Farm

**Author's Note:**

> Meets the prompt 'Prologue Danes - Signe meets Michael's family.'

\---------

Morten Madsen answered the knock on the farmhouse door, fixing his best ‘go away NOW’ glare at the intruder. There were all sorts of refugees and stranded city folks on the roads of Bornholm these days, since that nonsense about closing the borders. They were supposed to be accommodating any stranded travellers in Rønne, he didn’t know why they were knocking on their door out here. He huffed “What do you want” at the latest one.

There was nobody there. Morten was momentarily taken aback, until he heard someone clearing their throat. He looked down, and there at the bottom of the stairs was a small slight woman wearing a coat that was at least sizes three too big for her, staring up at him with flinty grey eyes from under a wavy fringe. “Is this the Madsen farm?” she asked.

Morten rumbled, “Depends.” He crossed his beefy arms over his expansive belly and glared down at her.

She raised her chin imperiously. “I’m looking for Michael Madsen, from Copenhagen. He said his sister had a farm out here. I’m assuming you’re not his sister, but my apologies if you are.”

Morten suppressed the urge to grin. “Nope. What do you want with Michael?”

“My name’s Signe, Signe Sørensen. I’m an old friend of his.” When Morten didn’t respond, she gestured at the laden wheelbarrow next to her. “I brought him some cat food.” Then she crossed her own arms and returned his glare again.

Morten couldn’t keep a straight face any longer and guffawed, “Now I believe you. You’ve met Magnus.” In less than a month, Michael’s enormous spoilt cat had already established himself as the alpha cat on the farm. Morten jerked his thumb toward the barn. “You _might_ find Michael out in the barn.”

She thanked him and inclined her head. He watched her hoist the handles of the wheelbarrow with some difficulty, and push it labouriously through the mud toward the barn. He frowned as he noticed she was wearing mud-encrusted light city shoes with no socks, and what looked like polyester uniform pants. He wondered if he’d made a mistake.

\---------

Michael didn’t turn around as the barn door opened. Whoever it was, even Mette, knew more than he did anyway. As much as he hated the cows and their stench and all the filth, at least they didn’t tell him to his face that he was useless. Magnus sat comfortably on the corner post to the milking stalls, allowing Michael to scritch him under his jaw. Even Magnus was more at home here, Michael thought morosely. At the sound of an unfamiliar voice calling his name, Michael did turn around.

He squinted at the figure silhouetted in the comparative brightness of the doorway. It was that person from the boat, the boat servant, what was she doing here? Magnus mrrrowed at her.

“Hello, I can hear your cat.” She walked into the barn and scritched Magnus behind his ear. He closed his eyes and purred loudly. To Michael she said, “So, do you need help on the farm? Do you still think you’re useless?”

“Um, hello. We’re, ahh, not really,” Michael fumbled, “not really looking for a servant or anything.” Who was he kidding? “I am just as useless as I thought, though. Uhhh, the ferry company says they’re going to resume sailings any day?” He’d been calling the ferry company’s office daily, and that’s what the answering machine said.

Signe snorted, “No, they’re not. There isn’t anyone at the Copenhagen head offices, and the captain of our boat says he’s not going to sail back until he knows we won’t die.” She didn’t add, _and Captain Olsen was last seen roaring drunk at a waterfront bar, hollering into a dead cellphone._

Michael absorbed this. “How did you find the farm? There are lots of Madsens with farms here.”

“I asked for the farm with Mr Big Businessman Crybaby Madsen. They all nodded and pointed here.” Michael winced and looked away. “So anyway,” Signe continued, “here’s some stuff I picked up.” She gestured at the wheelbarrow, “can I hide, I mean _store_ it in here?”

Michael walked to the door and looked down at the laden wheelbarrow. “Where did you get a wheelbarrow from?”

She shrugged, “Nobody was using it, it’s okay.” She looked up at Michael with wide eyes and an equally wide grin as she peeled back a part of the tarp lashing down her load. “Look, I brought some cat food! Eh? Good stuff?” Magnus mrrowed his assent as he twined around Signe’s legs.

Michael nodded but remained frowning as he peered at the official stamps on the boxes behind the cat food sack. He stepped aside as Signe pushed the wheelbarrow into the barn. “You didn’t have anything with you on the boat, where did this stuff come from?”

“Oh, they didn’t need it anymore and they couldn’t pay us,” Signe waved her hand, pushed back her too-long coat sleeves and dug under the tarpaulin for a moment before procuring a bag which she hugged to her chest. “We were all more or less fired anyway. I met your brother, he seemed nice.”

She walked out of the barn, Michael following her, and walked back to the house. Morten had been joined by Marianne on the porch. Signe walked up the stairs and shucked off her mud-encrusted shoes before walking into the house in her bare feet, but Morten and Marianne were only looking at Michael. Michael shrugged in answer as he shucked off his own gumboots before going into the house.

The whole procession stopped short as a figure no larger than Signe stood barring the path. “Who are _you?_ ," Kirsten Madsen demanded. “We’re not accepting any more city people,” she stated, with a stern look at Michael, “we’re a farm, not a refugee centre.”

Michael stammered, “Mum, she’s a friend of mine.” Shooting Signe a nervous look, he said, “uhh, she’s a plumber or something, she’s ummm…”

“Signe,” Signe interrupted smoothly, “Signe Sørensen.” She produced a bottle from the package still hugged to her chest. “Michael told me he’d like me to bring some of this when I came.” She smiled her most ingratiating smile as she saw Kirsten’s pupils widen and heard murmuring from Morten and Marianne behind her. “Dutch jenever is okay, I hope?”

Kirsten gave a tight nod. Signe dug into her pack again, producing a second bottle and placing it carefully next to the first on the kitchen bench. Kirsten didn’t take her eyes off the bottles as she said, “Michael, why don’t you show her where everything is?”

Michael opened his mouth and closed it again, as Signe flashed a smile at him.

\---------

After a rather merry dinner with the whole family, Kirsten waved a bleary hand at Michael and slurred that he could find an extra towel for Signe in the cupboard, “but don’t make too much noise, okay?”

Michael blushed and scrubbed at his face with his hands, but led Signe back to his room. He gathered up an extra blanket and pillow, saying, “I’m sorry, they don’t know, but I’ll go sleep in the barn, it’s okay.”

Signe reached up and took the pillow from Michael, throwing it back onto the bed. “Don’t be stupid, you can stay here.” She pulled his face down to hers, until he was looking dreamily into her lovely eyes, with a hopeful little smile.

“You can sleep on the floor,” Signe said smoothly.

**Author's Note:**

> And this is how the usefulness of wheelbarrows was introduced onto the Madsen farm.


End file.
